


Climbing Chaos

by fantasticallyunaware



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Childhood Trauma, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Hermione Granger is a Badass, Hogwarts First Year, Mentor Severus Snape, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Severus Snape Has a Man Bun, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry, Tom Riddle's Diary, and is kinda whiny, some modern tech
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-07 18:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15913563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticallyunaware/pseuds/fantasticallyunaware
Summary: This is basically a re-write of "The Philosopher's Stone" but some major plot points have been changed and Harry is a lot more closed in as a result from his time spent with the Dursleys."Harry was settled into the safety of his routine, he ignored the Dursleys and for the most part, they ignored him (there were those odd occasions where Dudley would try to get him to talk- he hadn’t succeeded yet). Repetitiveness was reliable and Harry lived inside each repeated motion. Within the cover of obedience he was able to explore multitudes of possibilities inside his head and was free to let his imagination stick its tendrils in even the dankest corners of his existence."





	1. The First Rung

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and I'm kinda new at this writing thing, so with that said I probably will not be the most reliable about updating (sorry!). Once I find a routine, updates will probably come more reliably but for now I need to get used to setting aside time to write etc.
> 
> A note about the title: it is based off the quote "Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb, they cling to the real or the gods or love. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is", from Game of Thrones.

His hands were raw and red, contrasting the caramel tones of his skin. He didn’t feel any pain, not anymore. Boiling hot water and harsh cleaning chemical were part of his daily routine. He plunged his hands back into the soapy water and scrubbed furiously at a dirty breakfast plate with an old cleaning rag. The oils slowly seeped off the plate into the rag. He carefully placed the sparkling plate on the other side of the sink where the drying rack was. Only a few more dishes to go and he was free until lunch. He smiled a bit to himself, he was going to go to the library. Just the same as every other day. The Dursley’s didn’t pay for his schooling, a waste of money they said. He was already living under their roof, eating their food and taking up their space. Why should they swish any more money down the drain on him? As it was, Harry had to earn his keep; which meant chores for Aunt Petunia, being at the beck and call of Dudley and staying silent and out of the way for Uncle Vernon. 

The last dish scoured clean, Harry moved on to drying them all and climbed the counters the set them back at their homes in the cupboards. His own home was a safe little nest under the sink. He could curl up into a ball, surrounded by Dudley’s old clothes for bedding and the odd bottle of cleaner. He had his most precious possessions carefully wrapped in Dud’s old T-shirts at the bottom of his nest: a perfectly smooth rock, an old broken flashlight that worked if you twisted it just right and whatever book he currently had checked out from the library along with his library card. 

Fortunately, a library card was free and this way the Dursleys didn’t have to feel as bad about Harry not getting any schooling, he was learning plenty from books anyway!

Harry hopped off the counter and slid his two sizes too big trainers on as he quickly exited Number 4 Privet Drive. The walk to Little Whinging Library was a short one (only five minutes away) and he soon arrived. Upon entering one could see the vast array of shelves, the check out desk and bright skylights. It was Harry’s favourite place. He would spend his time there every day until 11:30 when he would promptly check out his book and head home to prepare lunch. 

Harry’s favourite types of books were ones full of fantasy and adventure. Dragons, wizards, sword fights and heroes captured his imagination. He could sit in one of the big, comfy chairs that almost seemed to swallow you and get pulled entirely out of his life and into one where magic spells were cast and knights fought in wars. He could become another person: a hero, a villain, a wizard. He enjoyed being a villain the most. Their cunning ways and fanciful plots enraptured his mind. How could one dream up plans so evil, so dastardly? 

If the librarians ever thought it weird that he spent every day there and never said a word, they never said so. Harry was an intelligent boy and he always took great care to return his books in pristine condition. For him, ruining a book would be sacrilege. 

On this particular day, Harry browsed the shelves with vigour, he had just finished _The Magician’s Nephew_ and was looking for another enthralling read. Out of the corner of his eye, quite high on the shelf mind you, he spotted a book titled _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_. He knew he had to have it, just imagine the wondrous contents of a book titled so! However, he was loathed to ask for any sort of help to reach it. Uncle Vernon had always instilled in him: “Children are meant to be seen not heard, but you boy, should neither be seen nor heard.” So, there was nothing to do but pine over the loss of such an intriguing little title. 

Harry reluctantly returned to gazing the lower shelves, trying to find something else to spark his fancy, when he felt a soft nudge in his shoulder. Immediately, he tensed. Was he somehow in trouble? Did he accidentally disturb someone? He slowly turned around, wary of whoever had come to scold him. But, to his amazement, a person had not tapped on his shoulder. It was in fact, the wondrous book he had been pining over. Just floating there in the air. Softly tapping against him. Harry stood shocked and a bit confused. Was this some new sort of technology? But no, he couldn’t see any strings or mechanical devices. Tentatively, he reached out and clasped the book with his hands. He felt a little sigh come from the pages as if it was pleased that he’d finally picked it up out of the air. Turning it over in his hands a few times, he checked that there were no strings. Very strange indeed. What had caused this book to float down to him into his hands? Perhaps, this book was magic... no. He shook his head, magic wasn’t real; it only existed in the minds of authors and young children. He was starting to think he’d imagined the whole thing. The fantasies he so enjoyed were filling his head with nonsense. The book must have fallen from the shelf and that was that. 

He forced the incident out of his mind as he checked out the book and sped back home. All his pondering had wasted a lot of time, he was going to be late to making lunch.

Harry gently stuffed his new book into a shirt at the bottom of his “bed” and got to fixing the Dursley’s lunches. Sautéed chicken with chives and onion for Petunia and Dudley- they were supposed to be on a diet. Mr Dursley, however, had no such qualms and required a hearty lunch of fried chicken, toasted bread with slabs of butter and crispy, oven-made chips. 

Lunch was all set and ready on the table so Harry disappeared into his little nook under the sink. He wouldn’t want to put out the family by forcing them to gaze upon his freakish figure. Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly punish him if Harry disrupted his appetite. 

Luckily, Harry had his new library book to keep him company. He always enjoyed the peace and quiet of a good book, plus none of the Dursley’s would disturb him until after lunch when Aunt Petunia would send him to work in the garden. Nestled up in his ratty T-shirts, he pulled out _The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe_. He had to be extra careful about turning the pages because his hands were still feeling a bit raw from this morning. Getting a paper cut would make it awful to do the dishes again with the harsh cleaning chemicals. 

All too soon, Aunt Petunia called him to his chores like clockwork. “Insolent Boy! The garden won’t weed itself. Hop to it then.”

Gardening wasn’t such a bad chore, in fact, it was probably Harry’s favourite chore. The fresh scent of grass and pulled weeds, the tiny little bugs whose colourful shells always fascinated him, and the vibrant colours of the lilacs and tiger lilies and sunflowers. Ever since his interest in plants started, Harry had made it his mission to learn as much as possible about them. He checked out many books as he could from the library and memorized all the Latin names of the plants in the garden and the ones he found most interesting. While he weeded he would often run their unpronounceable names through his head.

Although he found the plants grand, the best thing, by far, were the snakes. 

He’d read about snake charmers in books. The ability to whisper commands into the waiting ear of a serpent, to enchant them to follow your every move. Those charmers held an air of mystique around themselves; they were from faraway lands and wore strange silks and turbans. He was a normal (ish) boy living in English suburbia. Yet, somehow he possessed powers like those he indulged himself in reading about. For as long as he could remember, he could converse freely with his snakes. There was never a lonely moment in the garden. Harry found his freedom with his snakes. He could express himself without judgement, without fear. He never spoke to the Dursleys, not even when Dudley provoked him. There was no fulfilment in expressing himself to people who would only ridicule him or hold anything he said against him (not to mention their intellect was no match for his, he had read more books in his short lifetime than all the Dursleys had read combined). Silence was his best defence. It locked everything in and kept everyone out.

There were three snakes he routinely chatted with: Corn Snake, Blue Snake and Grass Snake. These were their formal names and as he had become great friends with them he called them affectionately by their sobriquets: Corn, Blue and Grassy. 

Corn was pale, khaki coloured and the most vocal of the little group. Blue was an emerald colour with flecks of aquamarine and while he wasn’t as prone to babbling he often had insightful (for a snake) bits of knowledge to give Harry. Grassy was the quietest of the bunch, he always seemed to fade to the background a bit with his muddy brown scales. But, he was Harry’s favourite, often found entwined around his arm or a comforting weight on his shoulders. 

Make no mistake, weeding was hard work. Especially when the summer sun permeated Harry’s clothing and fried his skin. But time spent in the garden was sacred, it was his time to be himself and entertain his fantasies alongside his dearest friends. 

Harry dreamed of escaping to the circus as soon as he had the means to leave the Dursleys. His talent with snakes would be sure to secure him a spot in a troupe, or so he hoped. At the very least he could start as an assistant or cleaner and work his way up. Talking to snakes was the only thing he really enjoyed (besides reading novels) and if he could slither away from the Dursleys on it all the better. 

His plans were fantastical at best and impossible at worst but as young children oft do, he believed he could become someone renowned. 

By four, the chore was done for the day and it was time to bid adieu to his snakes. Groceries were waiting for him on the kitchen counter to be made into dinner as per usual.

He filled a pot with water and set it to boil while he got out a frying pan to start on a sauce. It was a pasta night. Naturally, Harry would not be eating this food, this food was for deserving people. People like _him_ gratefully took whatever leftovers were given. People like him didn’t deserve anything because of the burden they already were to the family.

...

Harry was settled into the safety of his routine, he ignored the Dursleys and for the most part, they ignored him (there were those odd occasions where Dudley would try to get him to talk- he hadn’t succeeded yet). Repetitiveness was reliable and Harry lived inside each repeated motion. Within the cover of obedience, he was able to explore multitudes of possibilities inside his head and was free to let his imagination stick its tendrils in even the dankest corners of his existence. 

But then, at the end of August mugginess, a letter arrived. At first, it seemed innocuous, it was just another envelope in the pile. Upon closer examination, it was addressed to him. This was strange because Harry had never received a letter. And even stranger still was the infallible accuracy of the address: _To Harry Potter, Cupboard Under the Sink, Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England._

Harry set aside the other mundane post on the dining room table and reverently ran his hands over his letter. The envelope was a creamy colour and the ink was written in a calligraphic script. Flipping it over, it was closed with a red stamped crest. Before he could even register what had happened _HIS_ letter was snatched out of his hands and into Aunt Petunia's claws. 

“What are you grubbing your paws all over, boy! The mail isn’t for—”, she cut off and sucked in a sharp breath as she read the address. Her already pale face leached the last bits of colour until her harsh blush stood out as severe red blotches. 

Harry was confused, what was so wrong with a letter addressed to him? But he didn’t say anything, he never did. 

Aunt Petunia turned her sharply lined face on him with a glower that dropped the temperature in the room about five degrees. She shook the letter in Harry’s face and spat through her teeth, “Listen here boy, and I am only going to say this once. I am graciously giving you a choice. If you open this letter and read the contents, you are no longer welcome in this house. You can not come back, however, if you choose NOT to ever touch this letter again or ANY others like it you will be welcome to stay here as you are.” With this new information, Harry was even more intrigued about his letter. It was clear Aunt Petunia knew what it was and it seemed dangerous. Definitely a good dangerous if she didn’t approve of it. He was planning on leaving the Dursleys anyway, so what if was a few years earlier than he had planned? Plus, this letter might have something or someone that could help him out. Maybe it was a long-lost relative or someone had heard about his talent with snakes (although he had never told anyone about it). So, flipping caution into the air, he met Aunt Petunia’s stare and promptly stuck out his hand for the letter back. 

She didn’t hand it back immediately and instead said, “So be it then, boy. You are no longer welcome here. Grab your things and go to the front porch. You’ll get your letter back there and you will leave my property straightaway.” Harry nodded his acquiescence and trotted to gather his things out of his nook. He felt a brief squirm of regret in leaving his snake friends behind, but perhaps wherever he ended up he could find new friends. He knotted one of the large shirts at the bottom to make a bag of sorts and filled it with a change of clothes, his smooth rock, flashlight, library card and _Treasure Island_ ; his newest book. There was nothing to do about his lack of money or food but he knew he could survive. He wouldn’t need food for a while and money would only be useful to buy food.

He bundled everything to his chest and stopped at the front porch before Aunt Petunia and she gave him his letter with a look of disgust. “I better not see you again boy. There will be no crawling back here. We’ve already given you more than you should have ever gotten.” Harry didn’t particularly care for her “heartfelt” words and was halfway out the gate by the time she finished. He swore he could hear her mutter under her breath “Good riddance.” He didn’t care, never had he cared about what the Dursleys thought farther than when it would result in his next meal.

For his first act of freedom, Harry decided he would open his letter in the nearby park and figure out what to do from then. Reaching the park quickly, he sat down on a bench and meticulously peeled up the waxen seal and drew out the papers within. The first one read:

_To Harry Potter,_

_Congratulations on your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! We are pleased to welcome you to the incoming class of ‘91-‘92. Hogwarts includes a rigorous coursework and many opportunities for our students to prove themselves in the wizarding world, come ready to challenge yourself and learn. Please keep in mind the honour it is to receive acceptance and as such, it should be treated with the utmost respect. The first day of term starts August 29th and we remind all students that their school supplies MUST be purchased before this date (supply lists enclosed in the letter). All First Years and Prefects are required to board and ride the Hogwarts Express at platform 9 and 3/4, Kings Cross Station to allow first years to become acquainted with each other and Prefects, to begin with, their yearly duties. Boarding will begin at 10:30 AM and the train will leave promptly at 11:00 AM August 29th. Other students may choose a transportation of their choice if they please. We are excited to see you at the Sorting Ceremony and Welcoming Feast!_

_Sincerely, The Hogwarts Staff_

Harry stared at the paper in his hands for what felt like an eternity. Wizardry? He was a wizard? That made absolutely no sense. There was no such thing as magic. It was only in the books he read. This had to be some sort of joke but, that didn’t explain Aunt Petunia’s reaction. She certainly wouldn’t get that mad about a prank, or even realize it was a prank unless she had read the contents of the letter. That meant she knew. She knew magic was real. And that was the most absurd thought Harry had ever had.


	2. Against All Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for my tense switches. I've always done this and I'm trying to break the habit but I can't always catch them. Also for the shoddy editing (this was kinda a rushed chapter).

He scanned the other papers enclosed. One was a supply list full of books he’d never heard of and things he wouldn’t even know where to buy if he had any money. Cauldrons? Robes? Dragon skin gloves? An OWL??? The other paper had a train boarding pass attached to it and the oddest instructions on how to locate the station. Apparently, he had to walk straight through a brick wall! 

Well. Harry had no other plans. He had nowhere to go, he wasn’t even sure if the circus troupe was in town yet. So... why not take a chance? And if he ended up looking like an idiot running into brick walls at least he tried. Plus, there was this small part of him that was holding out on the possibility that the letter was real. How could he give up finding out if it was? 

As soon as he started thinking more openly about magic, memories he long pushed aside as “accidents” came rushing to the forefront of his brain like carbonated bubbles. Just a few weeks ago, the book falling unexplainably and a few months ago, he was sure his flashlight bulb died, but it stuttered back to life in his hands. Years ago, he vaguely remembers becoming invisible for a few hours when Uncle Vernon was in a particularly bad mood. He had always put that incident down to his apt hiding abilities. But maybe most convincing of all was his ability to talk to snakes. He let himself momentarily revel in the thought that there were other people out in the world like him. Harry knew the treacherous pit of hope all too well so, he packaged up all thoughts on the matter of magic and resolved not to open them again unless he made it to Platform 9 and 3/4.

It was only August 28th, so there was still a full day ahead of him before the train would supposedly arrive. He glanced down at his possessions, he knew he needed to return his library book but he had just checked it out! Well, there was nothing else he needed to do anymore, he could spend the whole day reading and then venture over to Kings Cross Station to hunt for the fabled Platform 9 and 3/4. It was almost like he was one of the characters searching for treasure in his favourite novels.

Harry planted himself firmly back on the park bench and opened up to the first chapter: _The Old Sea-dog at Admiral Benbow_. Almost instantly he was sucked into the story and before he knew it he was squinting at the text in the slowly disappearing sunlight. Sighing heavily, (he hadn’t finished the book) he got up and stretched out his sore muscles. He would return the book and make it down to the station. At least inside there wouldn’t be any wind and maybe a nice bench to sleep on. If the magical station _was_ real he would spend the night there and board the Express in the morning. If it wasn’t real... he didn’t want to think about it. He knew his circus dreams were a bit far-fetched and more realistically he’d end up in a downtrodden children’s home or fending for himself on the streets.

The sun was sinking lower into the horizon and Harry knew he had to start walking. From overhearing Uncle Vernon complaining Harry knew that the drive from his house to Kings Cross was about thirty minutes. With his short legs, it would be about a two hours walk and he didn’t much fancy walking in the dark. But he also didn’t want to sleep out in the open, so with no other options he placed one foot in front of the other and began. 

The main obstacle was directions. He didn’t have a map and there was no way to steal one. But that wasn't about to stop him, he just needed to use his sharp wits. On all the main roads were bus stops, and each stop had a small shelter. Within that shelter was a map of the bus routes. He could identify the general direction of the station so it was just a matter of following bus lines until he got there.

By the time he finally reached Kings Cross, the sky was a gloomy ebon. The gates over entrances were closed and locked. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, he would have to stay the night outside after all. Upon closer inspection he found a sign with _HOURS OF OPERATION 8:00 AM until 18:00 PM_ printed on it. Well, that was that. Nothing he could do about it but accept it. Under the grand brick archways, he found a spot to curl up against the wall. He probably wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight. His possessions clenched tightly to his chest, he listened to the soft sounds of the night. A gentle rasping noise caught his attention just as his eyelids were fluttering closed. Immediately, he jerks himself awake. What was that? Something dangerous..?

_”Mice, rats, bugs. Oh, I am so hungry! Mice, rats, bugs...”_

Harry scanned the area in his close vicinity. There! Something was moving along the cobblestone entranceway. A small snake. Perhaps he knew about the magic station and could keep himself company through the night. Harry didn’t fancy spending it all alone.

_”Hello snake, what is your name?”_ Harry hissed quietly. The snake in question stopped his chorus of words and slithered curiously towards Harry.

_”A small-human. I have never talked with your kind before. My name is Garter Snake. Do you have any mice, rats, or bugs?”_ Garter Snake enquired. Harry shook his head.

_”No, I’m sorry I don’t have any food for you. Would you mind keeping me company? I can tell you stories about other snakes I knew in my garden. We were great friends.”_

_”You talk to other snakes? Well then snake-talker, you must have a collection of peculiar stories. I know my kind are strange at times. I will keep you company provided you keep me entertained.”_

Harry nodded eagerly. He wouldn’t have to spend the night alone! Who cared if he didn’t get any sleep, he could do that tomorrow. 

_”I had three snake friends at my old nest: Corn, Blue and Grassy. Corn was the most mischievous of them and he often told me fantastical stories, though I’m not sure how true they are. One such story started on a late summer afternoon...”_

And before Harry knew it, the sun had risen and streaked the cloudy morning with weak rays of light. Judging by the position of the sun, it would be a few hours until it was 8:00 AM and the entrance gates opened. Harry wasn’t averse to sitting for a while and watching the sunrise. As long as it wasn’t dark he’d be alright. 

_”Goodbye Garter. Thank you for keeping me company, but the sun is rising and I will be safe now.”_

_”It was my pleasure. You are quite the interesting small-human to talk to. I can see why your friends hold you in such high esteem.”_ Harry blushes a little at this but nodded his thanks again. Garter bobbed his little head at Harry and slithered off, probably to restart his hunting he hadn’t finished last night. 

Soft streaks of pink, orange and purple paint the sky, breaking through the cloud cover. As the sun gained more momentum so did the city and busy noises of morning workers fill the streets. Taxi cabs honk, people yell into their cell phones, and the rustling of thousands of trousers crowd the air. Harry moved himself a little ways away from the station entrance so the gatekeepers could open up the building and get the ticket booths up and running. Not five minutes later, Harry found himself in front of a ticket-collector holding out his Hogwarts Express boarding pass. He’s not sure what the ticket-collector would think when he sees “Platform 9 and 3/4” written in a bold script but he’d come this far and there’s no stopping now. The ticket-collector grabbed the paper and scanned it with a glazed look in his eye. He handed it back and slowly nodded at Harry. Harry was a bit confused by this, but maybe magical people came through every day and this type of ticket wasn’t out of the ordinary at all. Not wanting to wait another minute to find the Platform, Harry rushed off down to the boarding areas until he was between Platforms 9 and 10. He took a deep breath and inspected the innocuous brick wall of Platform 9. This was it. This was the moment that would either change his life in wondrous ways or turn him to desperate measures of street living, circus troupes or children’s homes. He tentatively reached out a finger and pressed it against the bricks. To his utter astonishment, it sank through the wall like it was Play-Doh. He quickly pulled his digit out and glanced around, no one seemed to take notice of him or the wall. After all, the station had just opened. Shoving aside his doubts he closed his eyes and took a step into the wall. Two more steps and he experienced the strangest pulling feeling like his skin had become unattached from his body and then quickly reattached. 

Harry squinted his eyes and blinked out harsh sunlight. He looked around and he was in a new world. The Platform had kept the integrity of Kings Cross but it was most definitely wizard. Instead of the austere, steel lattice ceiling and technologically advanced design of the previous station, it was all brick and glass. A clock hung in midair, but it didn’t only show the time of day, the hands also point to when trains were coming and their destinations. Currently, its hand was slowly creeping towards to: Wizarding Paris (Eastern Voyage)- Departure 9:00 AM. Every few feet was a brick archway with panelled glass looking out on different scenes. One showed the Eiffel Tower, another the Colosseum. All were labelled with the next train departing to the location and time that it would arrive. Interspersed against the walls were metal benches with moving advertisements plastered on their backrests. Harry paused for a moment, watching a wizard wave at him and implore him to buy “The most magical toothpaste! It changes the colour of your teeth based on your mood!” The wizard’s teeth shift through ten different colours before he repeated his spiel again. The ceiling of the Platform was domed and crafted out of bricks and glass skylights. Each skylight was neatly labelled with a city name, and looking up through them one could see the current weather conditions of each city. 

It was too much for Harry to take in all at once. There was so much movement and colour and everything was new and strange. He sat down on a bench and almost started as the advertisement (sensing a potential customer) began to talk in earnest about quills that change flavour when one sucks on them. Harry tried to block out all the noise and slowly analyze what was going to become of his life. Magic existed. He was a wizard. He’s about to go to a magical school where he knew no one and nothing. He would never go back to his old life (he knew this because after seeing magic, there wasn’t any way anyone could force him back to the non-magical world).

He opened up his makeshift sack and pulled out his Hogwarts letter. Unfolding the flap, he unsheathed the papers and reread them with his new knowledge. Inspecting the letter more closely for anything he might have missed the first time around, he notices the postmark: August 5th. Well, that was strange. Certainly, it shouldn’t take a good twenty-three days for post to show up. Just how far away was this school? Another country? Before he had any more time to think on the matter a sudden influx of people rushed into the station. Harry glanced up at the clock, it must be time for the Paris train to arrive. All the men, women and even a few children, wore strange dresses. Most men’s were black and cut similarly to eighteenth-century style suits. The women’s were more colourful and closer to modern jackets that hit around the ankles and clasped around the chest. Most children wore normal clothing, albeit a bit more dressed up, some wearing miniature versions of the strange dresses.

A loud dong reverberated through the Platform as a majestic red train pulled up. Wizards and witches immediately congregate toward the opening doors of the train and form orderly lines holding out their boarding passes. Ticket-collectors stand at each door, tapping tickets with their wands and permitting the travellers entry. Harry rapidly categorized this information and stored it away to use later when he would have to board his train. It was still just past 9:00 AM and the Paris Express had thirty more minutes of boarding time. After the immediate rush of boarders, more trickled in until another dong was sounded and the doors of the train slid shut and it sped off at an insanely fast speed. The Platform clock’s hands now start moving toward the next departure: Magical Glasgow (Northern Voyage)- 9:45 AM. After this train, the next one would be the Hogwarts Express. Harry settled into his bench and observed the Platform and its people. He would learn as much as possible from his observations and use his knowledge to get him through the rest of the day. Surely it wouldn't be so bad here in this unfamiliar world, at least there weren’t any Dursleys. Plus, no one paid him any mind on the bench. Everyone was too involved in their own thoughtless worries and small potatoes to focus on a thin, scruffy looking boy with tanned skin, tar black hair and squinting green eyes. 

As the hands clicked closer to 10:30 AM, the Platform began to fill with parents and children with trunks and cages and black school robes. Harry edged to the very end of the Platform, he didn’t want to be asked prying questions from strangers on “why was he all alone, where are your school supplies?” As the clock donged loudly a hulking beast of a train pulled up. A grey plume of smoke puffed from the engine chimney, and the carriage doors slid open. Instantly, the volume of the station increased tenfold as students rush to the doors, trying to secure the best compartments. Harry stood silent and observant, carefully proceeding to the farthest ticket-collect with his ticket. The man gave him a thinly veiled look of scorn. Harry definitely did not look like the regular wizarding student. He had no robes, no trunk, no parents and needed a good scrub. Even so, with a ticket, he was permitted passage to Hogwarts, appearance notwithstanding.

Stepping into the train, Harry could see a corridor down the middle with compartments that have windowed doors lining the aisle. The train floor was carpeted with years of footprints and dust making the overall smell a bit musty. No matter, Harry bravely opened the first compartment on the right. It’s empty. He stepped inside and there were four seats total, two on each end with a window separating them. He took one of the seats near the window and brought his knees up to his chest, his makeshift bag still clutched in his arms. Hopefully, no one would come back this far and he’d be left in peace. 

Resting his head against the cool window, he unbundled his bag to take out his library card. It may have been a piece of plastic, but it reminded him that the outside world still existed. He might have been thrown into a new environment, but if the school he was journeying to had books he’ll be right back in a normal space. Books were the one place he could find solace. They would never let him down and if he didn’t like one he could just as easily find another. It’s never the same way with people. He didn't like the Dursleys but it’s not like he could up and find a new family. People were the lot you got in life, books were ever changing and infinite.

A jolting clonk startled Harry who, for the past few minutes had been staring through the train window. He turned his head to see who disrupted his peaceful compartment. A boy. With a head of the palest hair he’d ever seen. This boy had harried look distorting his naturally patrician features. His clothing was impeccably neat, and from getting glimpses of the TV back at the Dursleys, Harry could tell the boy was expensively dressed. Without so much of a glance at Harry, he plopped down on the chair kitty-corner to him. He’s catching his breath in a dignified way that Harry had never known was possible.

All of a sudden the boy turned to him, and in a sharp voice spat out, “What are you staring at then? Do I look something funny? Is that it?” Harry was not expecting a confrontation and stiffened automatically. His tone was uncannily similar to an angry Aunt Petunia’s. “Well then? Answer me!” The boy sounded agitated now. When Aunt Petunia sounded like this, Harry found it the best course of action to do exactly what was asked, though he was usually yelled at to shut-up, not talk.

Harry really stared at the boy now. Should he reply? What if he got angrier? It’s not like Harry had anything of interest to say besides assuring the boy that he wasn’t staring. _Oh well_ , Harry thought, _he does seem quite upset, better to answer him now than be sorry later_. 

Plucking up his few strands of courage, Harry replied in an even voice, “I am not staring.” The boy sniffed at him with an air of snobbishness, “You know, I wouldn’t be sitting in this lousy compartment if Father didn’t have an important business meeting and Mother wasn’t visiting friends on the Continent. Father’s business meetings are really important so it isn’t _my_ fault I was late to boarding. If it wasn’t for the ridiculous rule that first years have to take the train I would have been apparated. It really is a much superior method of travel. This muggle way is quite demeaning. Though it doesn’t look like you know much of anything about superiority. What’s your name anyway? I’m a Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. I’m sure you’ve heard of my Father, Lucius Malfoy. He’s just made a large donation to the Ministry of Magic, they’re getting a new wing named after him.” 

Draco stared at him expectantly and Harry realized that within that long tirade was a question for him to answer. He never heard any kid talk this way, it was so _uppity_. It made him feel inadequate and awkward. “It’s Harry. My name that is.”

“Harry. Really..? Harry what?”, the boy asked imperiously.

“Harry Potter, that is.”

Draco gaped at him. “You’re having me on. There’s no way you're the Great Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Come off it then! What’s really your name?”

Harry was confused. What was this boy, Draco, talking about? This was why books were so much better than people. There wasn’t any need to communicate with them. He wished he hadn’t returned _Treasure Island_ , that way he could ignore this strange demanding boy. Even so, Harry decided to respond, if only to be left alone, “My name really is Harry Potter. If you don’t believe it, I don’t care either way.” 

Draco refused to leave it at that. “If you're really Harry Potter show me your scar.”

Harry looked at the boy in disbelief. Was he completely off his rocker? Were all magical people like this? If so, Hogwarts may not be as grand as he imagined.

“Come on then, show me the scar on your forehead!”

If this was the way to get the boy to shut his mouth and leave him be, Harry would do anything. “You want a look at my forehead? Alright.” Harry pushed back his bangs and faced the boy straight on, “Good enough?”

Draco let out a staccato breath and his whole demeanour changed. The haughty tilt of his chin lowered and the narrow slant of his eyes soften. “He is you. Woah. We have to be best friends!”

The whole direction of the conversation switched so quickly Harry couldn’t catch up to what was happening. Friends? A mere moment ago this pompous boy stared down his nose at him. How could his forehead and name erase the whole beginning of their conversation? And furthermore, the boy would not shut up now!

“What’s it like being Harry Potter? Do you remember defeating the Dark Lord? Why are you wearing funny clothes? What’s that rectangle thing in your hand? Do you know what house you’ll be sorted into? I know I’ll end up in Slytherin. Naturally, it’s the best house out of the lot, every Malfoy has been sorted into it. Plus, my Uncle Severus is the Head of House. I’ll bet I’ll get away with tons of pranks. And, oh! Quidditch! I mean, first years can’t play or have brooms but my Father’s bought me the Nimbus 2000. It’s the best broom on the market you know. I just have a feeling I’ll be sneaking out and flying ALL night on weekends. You could come flying with me of course. Oh! I could teach you and we could try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team Second Year. I bet you’d be a good Seeker ‘cause you’re awful small. I, of course, will be going for Chaser--” Here Draco cut off as he realized Harry was staring at him with a queer expression on his face. Harry was unsure of what to make of the waterfall of words spewing out from the other boy’s mouth, he could only understand about fifty per cent of what Draco said (mostly because of all the magical slang, but partially from the rapid speed that the words shot out from between his lips).

Harry gave himself a moment to dissect the monologue and decided on answering the easiest question.


	3. The Strangest Train Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I've included modern technology in my AU even though the year is still 1991. We'll just pretend that the muggle world is much more advanced compared to its canon counterpart. Don't be surprised if I integrate some technology in later chapters as well as this chapter. Thanks for reading!

“This,” Harry said as he held up the small, plastic rectangle, “is a library card. It lets you check out any book you want from your local library and if you don’t return it in time it charges a small fine to the card.”

If anything Draco just looked more confused by the explanation. “But how can it have fines on it? It’s a plastic card and muggles can’t make things think by themselves.”

Harry really didn’t want to get into a huge discussion, couldn’t this boy see he didn’t want to talk to him? Furthermore, how did he not know what a library card was? Harry prayed that they had libraries in the wizarding world. What would he do if there weren’t any books? Didn’t these people want to learn, surely they must read? Harry resigned himself. Maybe if he answered Draco’s question he’d be left alone for the rest of the ride.

“First off, I don’t know what a muggle is, but I’ll explain all the same. A library card is connected to a computer database, as I understand it. So, when you check out a book the card is scanned on its special barcode and the computer remembers it. Then, if your book isn’t checked back in on time, the computer records the days that pass. Each day that passes you get fined on your card because your card is connected to the computer database that records the amount of days book is checked out.” Harry thought he did a pretty good job on explaining; he didn’t fully understand coding and computer databases but he understood how the internet worked basically. After all, he used a computer at the library before. He’s had to look up book titles a countless number of times. 

“Didn’t I just say muggles can’t make things that think for themselves? How can a ‘Kom-pooter’ think if it doesn’t have magic?” Draco looked pretty smug with his retort, but Harry was concerned. Did they not have computers at Hogwarts? How were they supposed to look up information? Everything was probably old-fashioned. If they had magic, they had no need for electricity, internet or running water. What if they had chamber pots instead of toilets? Harry was horrified. Returning his thoughts to Draco’s reasoning, he grudgingly attempted to explain electricity and the Internet. 

“Computers run on this thing called electricity. Electricity is full of electrons,” here Harry wasn’t sure this is correct per se, but Draco would never be able to tell if he didn’t know what a computer was. “These electrons are full of energy and they power the computer. The computer connects to the internet and you can search for stuff. Everything is on the internet, so the computer doesn’t really need to ‘think’ to find what you’re looking for, it just matches up the words you type into the search box with the words already out there.” Harry knew his explanation was terrible. He checked out science books from the library before, but he didn't understand them that well. He hadn’t gone to university for engineering, he shouldn’t be expected to explain electricity.

Draco looked at him disbelievingly. Well, that wasn’t Harry’s problem, if he didn’t understand he could go read a book on it. 

“That makes no sense at all. What’s an electron? And how does it have power? I don’t believe you. You’re just making stuff up because you think I don’t know anything about muggles. Well, I’ll tell you: muggles are disgusting and I wouldn’t want anything to do with them so you just keep that nasty little card to yourself.” With that, Draco humphed out a little breath and angled his body away from Harry. Harry was just relieved. Finally, this boy would leave him alone. Even the “Great Harry Potter” could not make Draco listen to him spew off about “muggle” technology. Harry still didn’t know what that word meant.

A tense silence ensued but Harry was all too happy to look out the window and watch the countryside go by. He’d never left Surrey before, and the rolling hills and meadows of the countryside capture his eyes. Draco was still sitting away from Harry, but he was fiddling with a long wooden stick, and the watch in his left hand was changing colours. All of a sudden, their compartment door was thrown open. A girl with dark brown, bushy curls entered. 

“Hey, have any of you guys seen a toad? Neville’s lost his.” She held up her iPhone and a picture of a lumpy-looking brown toad was on the screen. Harry glanced at it and shook his head, nothing had come back here except Draco. Draco looks absolutely mystified by the phone, Harry reckoned it’s the first time he’d ever seen something like that based on his non-existent knowledge of computers. Dudley had the newest iPhone and of course, Harry listened to him brag about it whenever his friends were over and in the kitchen.

Draco’s pompous voice cuts the air, “And what’s that? Some sort of evil muggle technology I bet. I don’t associate myself with mudbloods so you had better leave.” He sniffs his nose up in the air and turns away from the girl. She wasn’t about to let his tone go though. “I’ll have you know muggle technology isn’t evil. Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it’s wrong or bad. I’m not about to live in the 16th century so I will be enjoying modern conveniences such as cell phones. How else am I supposed to talk to my parents?” Draco snorted. “You use an owl of course. Owl mail is way faster than muggle mail.”

The girl looked incensed. “As if I would do anything as barbaric as making an owl work for me. My mom is an animal rights activist. Plus, texting takes two seconds, I’m not going to wait a whole day for some poor owl to deliver me a letter.” She crossed her arms as if daring Draco to contradict her. Harry sensed a full-blown argument about to erupt, and it eerily reminded of his Aunt and Uncle. He did not want to get between them, but he also didn’t want to listen to a fight. He wished he picked a different compartment. 

Sucking up his fear, Harry tried to defuse the tension, “Hello, I’m Harry. Draco here is just a bit prissy,” Draco gapes at him, “but he really doesn’t know anything about technology. I tried to explain earlier how a computer works but he didn’t believe me. I, on the other hand, know little to nothing about the wizarding world. So maybe you can settle our inequalities and tell him how your phone works and me about magic.”

The girl looks pretty smug at this, and plops herself down next to Harry and across from Draco. “Of course I can explain, if you care at all to listen, Draco. Oh, and by the way, my name is Hermione.” Draco looked like he’d rather be doing anything else, but turned towards Hermione to listen in on her explanation. The girl did sound like she knew what she’s talking about. Harry was just gratified he’s left alone and there wasn’t anymore yelling.

A few moments later, Hermione tapped his shoulder, “Hey, how come you don’t know anything about magic? Didn’t one of the Hogwarts teachers escort you to Diagon Alley to get your supplies and to the Platform and explain everything? Where is all your stuff anyway? And why aren’t you wearing robes?”

Harry didn't want to answer, but she had this persistent look on her face that told him she won’t stop questioning him until she got answers. “No one explained anything to me. No one escorted me so I haven’t got any supplies.”

“What? But in the letter, it said you _have_ to have your supplies before the start of term!”

“I know. I was going to talk to one of the teachers about it after the feast.” Harry wasn’t about to say he had no money to buy supplies and that he was going to ask nicely (beg) for second-hand books and robes. There must be some sort of charity program for those who couldn’t afford supplies. Sure, it would be embarrassing but it would be worse if he didn’t have them at all.

Draco looked up from his watch he’s messing with and says, “How do you not know about magic? You’re Harry Potter.” 

All this attention on him was uncomfortable. He just shrugged his shoulders and turned to the window. Please just let them leave him alone! He shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conversation.

“Wait, _you_ are Harry Potter? I read all about you in one of the books I picked up at Flourish and Blotts. You’re the one who vanquished Lord Voldemort!” What on earth was this girl talking about? Who was Lord Voldemort? He’s never vanquished anyone. God, these wizard people were peculiar. He prayed, once again, not everyone at Hogwarts would be off their rocker. Draco started talking, “You can’t just go around saying You-Know-Who’s name! This is why mudbloods shouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts, they don’t know anything.”

“I know plenty. You should be ashamed of yourself that you’re afraid of a name. He’s vanquished for god sakes. And what is that you keep calling me? A mudblood? What does that mean, it sounds like an insult.” Harry sensed another argument starting and internally groaned.

It’s a long train ride with Hermione and Draco just managing to refrain from shouting at each other. They leave Harry alone though, in favour of disputing every point possible from owl rights to electricity. Finally! They arrive in Hogsmeade, a town right outside of Hogwarts, at dusk. Everyone unloaded, and the older students make their way over to carriages apparently being pulled by nothing. A loud, gruff voice calls all the First Years over to the lake where about fifteen boats were waiting. An extremely large man--which Harry later learnt his name was Hagrid--with a beard to rival Hermione’s bushy hair ushered everyone into the boats. It’s just Harry’s luck that he got stuck in a boat with Draco and Hermione (who were still arguing). There’s another small boy in the boat too, he had smooth black skin and high cheekbones, but Harry didn’t know his name.

As the boats drift up the river Hogwarts rose into view. It’s massive. Harry only imagined castles in storybooks and he almost didn’t believe it was real. It had hundreds of turrets and balustrades. The windows were lit with a soft glow that illuminated the dark waters of the lake. Harry swore he could see gargoyles talking to each other along the roofs. He felt like he needed a sword and armour; he could easily be a knight of King Author. He half expected a dragon to fly around the corner and start incinerating everything in its path.

By the time the boats reach the dock, most of the students had fallen silent, in awe of the great stone monstrosity in front of them. They all un-board carefully and made the short trek towards the main doors. The doors tower over everyone (even Hagrid) and were made of old oak overlaid with cast iron curlicues. At Hagrid’s touch, the doors open inwards, revealing a brightly lit grand-hallway. 

A stern looking woman with more wrinkles than the beach had sand directed them to follow her down a side hallway to the left.

Her voice was sharp with a slight Scottish brogue, “Listen here First Years! I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor house. You will be sorted alphabetically. As soon as you learn your house you will make your way _quickly_ and _respectfully_ to your house table. I implore you all to not have the untimely misfortune of losing house points on the very first day. During the Feast, please be respectful of your upper years, professors and most importantly, Headmaster Dumbledore. If you will follow me a while longer you find yourselves in a hallway off of the Great Hall. The sorting will commence shortly, do place yourself in alphabetical order by last name.” 

Professor McGonagall turned her sharp gaze on the First Years and they scampered into somewhat of a line with quick conversations of “What’s your last name?” and “No, no, I’m before you.” Harry silently made his way towards the end and found himself behind a pair of twins with the last name Patil. He was starkly aware of his baggy clothes amongst the neat black robes. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he desperately hoped no one would say anything about his lack of proper attire. Even more pressing was the sorting. Would he need to do something specific? He knew next to nothing about magic. What if he had to perform spells? Anxiety rushed through his bloodstream and he got a tight feeling in his chest that only happened when his Aunt or Uncle berated him. He firmly told himself that the feeling would go away after he clenched and unclenched his hands ten times. Slowly, the feeling abated and he schooled his posture. He would be respectful and hold his dignity no matter what they say about his lack of abilities. He would not give them anything to laugh at. It would _NOT_ be like the Dursleys. 

The first name was called, “Abbot, Hannah!” But from Harry’s position, he could not see what she had to do to be sorted. A minute later a well-worn voice called out, “HUFFLEPUFF!” And raucous cheering and clapping could be heard. This continued on until Harry was towards the front of the line, behind one of the Patil girls. He could finally see what exactly the sorting was as the first Patil girl walked up to the front of the Hall. She sat on a three-legged wooden stool and Professor McGonagall placed a tatty, brown witches hat on her head. It didn't look like anything was happening, but a few moments later the hat moved its folds as if it had a mouth and shouted, “RAVENCLAW!” The girl looked happy and walked quickly towards a long table filled with cheering students clad in blue ties. Harry looked closely at where she sits down, it seemed all the First Years sat at the far ends of the tables. Next to her, Harry recognized the curly mess of hair from the girl on the train. _Hermione was her name_ , Harry thought, _I hope I’m not sorted into that house_. He briefly wondered where that Draco boy was sorted and he secretly hoped he won’t end up in the same house as him either.

All too soon his name was called up, “Potter, Harry!” As he made his way to the stool, he could hear a cacophony of whispers. 

“Is that Harry Potter?”

“No way. Look at what he’s wearing!”

“What is he wearing? Muggle clothes?”

“I think I see his scar!”

Harry keeps his posture straight even as his cheeks tinged red. Professor McGonagall gives a disapproving look at his clothes but nonetheless places the old hat on his head. The noise of the Great Hall dampens as the hat covers his ears and a voice similar to the worn one he heard call out the houses enters his mind.

_“Harry Potter. I’ve heard quite a bit about you and have been very interested in what lies inside your mind. Hmm... A fair bit of knowledge and a voracious reader. Perhaps Ravenclaw would suit you best?”_

_“No, please not Ravenclaw.”_

_“Ahh... you have already met one of the girls I sorted earlier. Normally I do not let the child choose, but you have plenty of traits that would fit well with any house. A fair bit of courage, you did make it here all by yourself and your parents were Gryffindors. Foremostly, you are a survivor. You would not have made it without the cunning use of bus maps. I see... those Dursleys put you through a lot. You balance your emotions well. And your deepest desire, to make something of yourself. To be great. Well, I think I’ve figured it out... SLYTHERIN!”_


	4. Evidently Auspicious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the longish wait; I'm preparing for the ACT (I think this is somewhat equivalent to the GCSE's) so the updates will be sparser.

The Great Hall burst into noise as Harry shuffled towards the table with Slytherin banners hanging above it. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him and it’s horrible. He wanted to fade into the background and then he saw him. The boy from the train, Draco. Oh god. He ended up in the same house as him! And the only spot available was between him and a boy with dark brown hair similar to his own. Harry awkwardly slipped his legs across the bench and sat down. 

The brown haired boy introduced himself as Theo Nott and started up a conversation with Draco, who he evidently already knew, after realizing Harry wasn’t going to volunteer any information about himself. Unfortunately, this required talking across Harry. It’s quite annoying, but at least he could relax and focus his attention on the Great Hall. It really did deserve its moniker. It had a high, arched ceiling that showed the night sky and all its stars. It reminded him of the “weather windows” at Platform 9 and 3/4. The walls were made of grey stone and covered with fantastical tapestries depicting all manner of magical moments in history. The house banners hung in mid-air, parallel to the tables they corresponded with. There were four house tables all with one end facing the Head table and one end facing two large doors which presumably lead to the rest of the castle. In the centre of the Head table sat the Headmaster and to his right and left were high-backed wooden chairs filled with professors. The one directly to his right was empty, probably where Professor McGonagall would sit after the sorting was finished. As Harry glanced down the Head table, his gaze stopped on a man dressed in all black robes with black hair pulled back from his face, a few inky tendrils brushing his cheeks. All in all, it’s not very notice-worthy, except for expression on the man’s face. It’s a harsh glare directed right at him. Well, that’s slightly unexpected. He turned his head away and relinquished his silence to Draco. 

“Do you know who that man in the black glaring at me is?”

Draco gives him a look like he’s a piece of shit on his thousand dollar hand-made Italian leather shoes. Evidently, he’s still angered about Harry’s comment on the train ride. “That is my Uncle Severus, Head of the prestigious House of Slytherin, which _you_ ,” here Draco injected as much vitriol into his voice possible, “have been unfortunately Sorted. Obviously, you know nothing about wizarding culture from being raised by _nasty_ muggles and don’t care enough about proprietary to abscond with those atrocious rags you’re wearing. You already disgrace Slytherin House and I’m sure Uncle Sev is glaring at you to clearly illustrate that point.”  
Draco pompously sniffed his nose and looked over Harry’s head to continue his conversation with Theo: a clear dismissal. 

Harry told himself it would NOT be like the Dursleys. One boy who was full of himself would not ruin this school for him. The Professor would be more difficult as he was also the Head of House meaning Harry would have to talk to him about getting robes and books. Especially if he already hated Harry for “disgracing Slytherin House” as Draco so eloquently put it. Draco also conveniently left off the Professor’s last name, meaning more embarrassment for Harry when he would try to talk to him.

A hush swept across the Hall as the Headmaster stood up at a podium in front of the Head table. “Welcome back to a new, wonderful year at Hogwarts!” Generous applause follows the statement and Dumbledore continues on. “Just a few reminders and we’ll get right into the feast. The Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, the third-floor corridor is undergoing renovation so please do not disturb the area lest you get hit with an unexpected architectural spell. Why just the other day I was walking by and ended up with a doorknob for a nose! Please do not antagonize the house elves about food preferences. If you have a request for a new dish write it and your House on a piece of parchment and hand it into your Head of House who will make sure it gets to the kitchens.” This was directed at the Gryffindor table with an amused smile. Harry briefly wondered what a house elf was, but was distracted from his thoughts when Dumbledore said, “Let the feast commence!” and the tables immediately filled with steaming platters of meats, different types of bread and vegetables. It was the most food Harry had ever seen, including the portions on his Uncle’s plate. He wasn’t sure if he could just take it or if there were certain rules around which foods first years could take and how much they were allowed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Draco spoon fluffy mashed potatoes onto his plate and take a few pieces of crispy chicken before folding his napkin across his thighs and daintily start eating. On his other side, Theo had taken a much larger portion but was still elegant in his mannerisms. Harry deemed it alright to take some food, but made sure to take the same items the other boys had on their plates and not to take any more than them. He was already a disgrace with his clothing and lack of knowledge, he didn’t need to make it worse by breaking some arbitrary dining rule.

The food was criminally delicious, he’d never had anything like it before. The mashed potatoes were like eating clouds and were much more filling than the few pieces of toast he was used to. He never had chicken before (the Dursleys thought it was too expensive to waste on him) but had prepared it many times. Before he knew it, his plate was clear. For some reason, he felt hungrier after eating than he did before he had taken even one bite. However, his stomach was bursting at the seams. He knew if he ate more he’d probably throw up. All the other boys still hadn’t finished their meals and he knew there was no way he’d take more food in front of them. It probably broke some silly social rule anyway. So Harry pushed his plate away and folded his cloth napkin on top of it. He would just wait quietly until the feast was over.

The feast dragged on and on. Conversations made people eat slower as they caught up on each other's summer vacations. Draco and Theo chatted incessantly, effectively ignoring Harry aside from a few curious glances Theo shot at him. After what seemed like hours, Headmaster Dumbledore called an end to the feast with a few strange words (Harry surmised he was a bit mad) and students began to exit with loud conversations and shouts and chaos in general. 

Over the deluge of noise, Harry heard an older girl call out, “First year Slytherins over here! First years!” He congregated with the other first years in a corner of the Great Hall and started following the girl as she moved through the main doors and down a side corridor light with glowing balls of light.

The girl turned to face them and started walking backwards as she spoke. “Welcome to Slytherin House! I’m Gemma Farley your fifth-year Prefect. I’ll be leading you all to the dormitories where a few more things will be explained. If you ever have any questions you can ask me or another prefect. Please be mindful of the way to the dormitories, you will be expected to memorize the path. If you need help the first few days, ask a fellow Slytherin but keep in mind we all have our own classes to get to. If you’ll keep following me we’ll get there in a few minutes.” With that she turned around a led them through a twisty maze of stone corridors with a practised ease Harry wished he had.

Eventually, she stopped before a blank section of stone wall. She smirked back at the group and said three words, “lacum missus sum.” The stones on the wall shifted apart and rearranged themselves to reveal an entrance. Harry was awestruck, magic was amazing. Gemma stepped through the entrance and ushered them in. “The password changes every two weeks and the new one will always be posted on the notice board in your dorm along with any other important information. You are NEVER to reveal the password to anyone who isn’t a Slytherin. This goes for the entrance to our dorms as well. It has been kept secret since the founding of Hogwarts. Do not be the one to undo our mysterious reputation.” 

If the magic entrance wasn’t enough of an indicator that Slytherin rooms would be wondrous, the common room solidified that notion. It had stone floors covered in detailed rugs, walls lined with bookcases that reached from the first level up to a balcony second level, and a giant glass window directly across from him looking out into murky waters. Comfy chairs and couches were splayed across the room in front of a large fireplace and the second level had desks for studying and smaller fireplaces interspersed throughout. The room was lit similarly to the hallways with floating balls of light. Some of the students already relaxing and chatting looked up as Gemma brought the group over to the entrance of where Harry supposed the dormitories were, but mostly ignored them.

“This the dorm entrances. Boys to the right and girls to the left. You can go into each other's dorms as long as you have permission from the person you’re visiting and follow the curfew. Boys cannot be in girls dorms after 7:00 PM and vice versa. I’ll let Professor Snape, our Head of House take over now.” As if her words conjured him, Professor Snape appeared from the shadows of the dorm entrances. Harry was glad he knew his name now and ran it over in his head a couple of times to be sure he wouldn’t forget it.

The professor’s dark glare scraped at Harry’s face. Harry felt like he could see every thought swirling in his head and quickly looked down to his shoes, uncomfortably aware of his inadequate dress. 

Professor Snape began a speech in a deep voice that matched his glare. “You are now Slytherins and shall act as such. I will not tolerate brash displays or acts condoning the values of this house I hold in high esteem. Slytherins stick together, this is your family for the next seven years. In public, I will not tolerate acts against another of my house. If you feel the need to _air your differences_ you will do so in the privacy of your dorms or the common room. That being said, if the problem is serious you will go to one of your Prefects for help and if they cannot help you, you will come to me. My office is always open, but do not abuse this fact. I will help you but I won’t be so inclined to favour you again if your problems could have been solved without my interference. Your Prefects and other housemates are your greatest resources. You must be in the common area or dorms by 8:00 PM, lights out at 11:00 PM and breakfast is from 7:00 AM to 9:00 AM every day. You’ll get your schedules tomorrow. That is all,” and with a flourish a velvety robes he disappeared back into the shadows.

Great. Just great. How was Harry supposed to ask the man for help if he didn’t even know where his office was? He wasn’t about to ask a Prefect to help him get clothes and books, that would definitely be held over him. But, Professor Snape did say the Prefects were supposed to help you and they probably knew where his office was. Plus, Gemma seemed nice enough. So, Harry waited for the other first years to disperse to the dorms and when he was the only one left at the entrance he tapped Gemma on the shoulder. “Um, excuse me, but would you happen to know where Professor Snape’s office is? I need to talk to him.”

Gemma looked at him sceptically but another glance at his clothes seemed to make her decision. “Sure,” she said genially, “just follow me.”

Thirty seconds of winding corridors brought them to a landscape painting of a forest where the trees kept uprooting themselves and walking around. Gemma turned to him, “Just knock the wall next to the painting and Snape will answer. To get back to the dorms just remember right, right, left and then straight until the secret entrance. Good luck with whatever you needed help with.” She gave him a little smile and then disappeared around the corner, presumably going back to the dorms.

Harry sucked up all his courage. If he could spend a night on the streets he could talk to a professor, albeit one that hated him already. He knocked on the wall gingerly, almost hoping there wouldn’t be an answer and he could run back to the dorms. 

No such luck. The landscape swung open (Harry wasn’t expecting that but where else was the Professor's office supposed to be?) and a deep voice called out, “Enter.” So that’s what Harry did. 

Professor Snape was sitting behind a big oak desk shuffling papers around and didn’t look up until Harry closed the portrait door and sat down in one of the wooden chairs on the other side of the desk. “Excuse me, sir, Professor Snape, I need to talk to you about something.”

Professor Snape sneered at him. “Evidently.”

Harry felt a bit chagrined and clenched his hands, looking down to avoid eye contact. He could get through this. “Well, I, um, don’t come from a magical family. I don’t have the supplies or any money to get them. I was wondering... do you um, have charity fund?” There. It was over, he said what he needed to say, if he got kicked out now at least he had tried.

He dared a glance up at the Professor to see how he was reacting. At least his face wasn’t sneering anymore but instead had a weird pinched look with a hint of dubiety. A second later the expression was back to a sneer. “Of course, Mr.Potter, we had a charity fund. However, it is reserved for those who truly need it. I am doubtful that you have squandered away the entirety of the Potter fortune with your short time here on Earth.”

What? Potter fortune? That made no sense. His parents were drug dealers who died from overdosing. They surely didn’t have any money left for him and even if they did Aunt Petunia would have taken it for herself after Harry was rudely hoisted into their perfect little family. Harry was peeved this man was making up lies. Couldn’t he see Harry just wanted help? He didn’t need to be laughed at.

“I’m sorry sir, but my parents are dead and they didn’t leave me anything. I really do need charity. I don’t have any supplies. Please. I just want help.”  
Here Professor Snape frowned at him. “I demand you stop this farce at once. I shouldn’t have expected anything better from the son of James Potter. Absolutely deplorable.” Harry cringed back in his chair. He KNEW he shouldn’t have gone for help. Now he would be kicked out for not having any supplies and for lying to a teacher. But it was interesting to learn his father’s name. Aunt Petunia always called him “that nasty drug addict” and his mother “the whore who married him.” He wondered if Professor Snape knew his mother’s name as well. Also, if the professor knew them did that mean they were wizards too?

“Alright sir, I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Harry made to stand up but was stopped.

“Wait.” Professor Snape looked Harry up and down, _probably noting his awful clothes_ , Harry thought glumly.

“Sit back down. You will explain to me in detail how you were able to get to Hogwarts and why you are wearing those atrocious clothes and then I will decide whether I want to hear the rest of your story.”

He had a chance! He got to stay and learn (hopefully). Thank the bloody gods.

“Thank you sir. I got to Hogwarts by following the instructions in my acceptance letter. Here,” Harry pulled his letter out of his makeshift bag which was stuffed in the giant pockets of Dudley’s old jeans. “I really did get in. I went to Platform 9 and 3/4 and boarded the train just like everyone else and now I’m here.” He gives a tentative smile up at Professor Snape’s impassive face.

“Well, if I may inquire, who had the pleasure of escorting you to said Platform?”

“I walked sir.”

“Do you live close to Kings Cross then?”

This was getting into dangerous territory. Harry didn’t want his professor to find out about the Dursleys, especially if he wasn’t planning on going back anytime soon. He might be forced to go back and his Aunt and Uncle would definitely not take that well.

“I don’t live far from the station.” Technically this was true because by car it wasn’t that far.

“And your clothing?” Professor Snape prompted.

“Well, these are just my normal clothes. I told you already that I don’t have any money so they are hand-me-downs. I don’t have much of a choice. But, if I get robes I promise to take care of them really well and not get them dirty.” The professor made that weird pinched face again.

“Earlier you said your parents were dead, who are you living with now? I need to know to ascertain whether you fall under the umbrella of the charity fund.”

Harry didn’t want to say anything about the Dursleys, he knew they had enough money to buy his school supplies but they would never put so much as a cent towards him. He had already wasted so much of their money eating their food, drinking their water and taking up their space (this wasn’t a cost per se but still an annoyance his Aunt hounded him about). 

“I live with my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin, sir.”

“I hate to be tactless,” he didn’t look like he hated it, “but what was your financial situation like? Did you worry about having reliable meals? Did your family struggle to pay for school supplies or other necessities like clothing or shoes?”

Harry consider the question. Yes, he did worry about reliable meals and he never got anything that wasn’t Dudley’s cast-offs, but the Dursleys could afford it all, they just didn’t want to. Harry looked down at his hands, it wasn’t a full lie. Plus, it would help him get what he needed.

“Yes, sir.” The pinched look on Professor Snape’s face back.

“Very well. In my opinion, you would be able to use the Hogwarts charity fund. I will have to talk logistics with Headmaster Dumbledore to get you all the necessary supplies. In the meantime, I have old Slytherin robes I can give you and I know I have potion books on hand. I will have to talk to the other teachers to see if they can get you other books. I’m sure Headmaster Dumbledore will want to have a chat with you. If that is all you may leave after I procure the robes for you.” The professor got up and went through a side door Harry hadn’t noticed before.

He got supplies! He got to go to school! He didn’t mind second-hand stuff, it would still be much better than anything the Dursleys ever had provided for him. And, after talking to Professor Snape it didn’t seem like he hated him, more of a mild dislike. 

Professor Snape reappeared in the side door with a folded black robe, black trousers, a white button-up shirt and a green-and-silver tie. “Here, if you make sure the house elves wash these every night you can wear them every day this week. By the end of the week, we will figure out a more permanent solution.”

“Thank you, sir.” And with a nod, Harry left the office and walked back to the dorms. He really got to be a student. This was going to be the best year of his life. He had a buoyant, bubbly feeling in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sum missus lacum" is Latin for "Dungeon" and directly translates to "I am sent to pit." Just thought that was interesting.


	5. Repugnant Duties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I'm so sorry for my inactiveness but I am studying hard for the ACT and I can't promise reliable updates until after Oct. 27th when the test is over. I'm also sorry that this chapter is a bit short than usual. I figured a short chapter was better than none at all. I'm also editing the early chapters for grammatical mistakes, so sorry if you've read them with all the mistakes. ALSO thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments! It means the world to me.

As soon as the Potter boy left, Severus let out a cathartic stream of expletives. Why couldn’t anything in his life be simple for once? This complicated things just so. Potter was supposed to be an arrogant, snarky Gryffindor following blindly in his father’s foolish footsteps. Easy to hate. He was not supposed to be a quite obviously starved waif imploring him with an air of disconnectedness for _charity_ of all things. It was strange how Potter seemed separate from his emotions, almost like he wouldn’t allow himself to feel until he knew he got what he wanted and it wouldn’t be snatched from his hands.

It was true, at first Severus was inclined to believe Potter was making trouble, but his ill-fitting clothing and spindly limbs spoke another story. So what had Severus done? He gave him the extra robes he kept in his supply closet in case of a potions accident and sent him on his way. And now he was about to fire-call Albus down to his office and have a conversation. Possibly a very rude conversation. Severus should have definitely been informed of Potter’s financial situation. All the professors were supposed to get reports before the start of the school year detailing the suspected at-risk students and scholarship students to help their transition--even if they weren’t their Head of House yet. It wasn’t that he cared about Potter, but without the handy-dandy reports it gave him so much extra work to acclimate the student.

Severus stalked over to the plain brick fireplace set into the wall in front of his desk and tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the embers. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore’s Office!”

Albus’ jovial voice popped through the connection, “Severus, my boy! To what do I owe this honour?”

Severus scowled at the embers flickering in the shape of Albus’ face. “It has come to my unfortunate attention that Mr Potter is without school supplies. Please do come through so we can discuss this further. I will not be reduced to kneeling in front of my fire.”

“Of course, of course, my boy.”

Albus stepped gracefully into Severus’ office spelling away lingering bits of soot and promptly transfigured one of his wooden chairs into an appalling cushy thing.

“Now Severus, what is this about Mr Potter? Quite a surprise with the Hat’s decision for Slytherin, eh? It did look like he wasn’t donning proper attire. I assume you’ve gathered insight into the matter?”

Severus mentally rolled his eyes, must Albus insist on dancing around the issue? Everyone had seen Potter’s “clothing.”

“Yes, it appears Potter had not been escorted to Diagon Alley and therefore was unable to purchase supplies. Interestingly enough, he claimed no knowledge of the Potter vaults or fortunes. He went as far to ask if there was a charity fund available for him to utilise. And I am inclined to believe he really is as destitute as he seems.” 

He levelled a suspicious look at Albus. No doubt he was behind Potter’s misfortune, not that Severus minded particularly. It was Potter after all. It only was fair that James’ son should have the short end of the stick after James’ went around flaunting himself his whole life. If Severus had to feel bad for anything, it would be that Potter was living with Petunia. He knew exactly who Potter meant when he revealed that he was housed with his Aunt. She was a bitch when she was a kid, and no doubt she hadn’t changed a bit.

“Unfortunately, Severus, you are correct. The Potter vaults have long been put to use. There are still a few Galleons left in a trust, but those cannot be touched until Mr Potter comes of age. He will have to do with the charity fund as of now. Does he have a wand yet?”

Severus was flabberghasted (though he didn’t show it on his face aside from the slight purse of his lips). The Potter vaults demolished? Where on Earth had all their blasted money gone? What about the Potter Manor? It couldn’t have just disappeared off the face of the Earth. Though they were wizards, technically anything was possible. Last time he’d checked, the Potters were as rich as the Malfoys, possibly comparable to the Blacks. 

“What happened to their money? Surely there is something left? The Potters were a prominent wizarding family after all. An ancient pureblooded line as most everyone knows.”

“Ah, my boy, James and Lily generously donated their money to the war effort in their wills. After their untimely death, their vaults were transferred to the Order and used to fund campaigning and projects to round up the last of the Death Eaters. They were truly devoted to the Greater Good, prevailing as their last enemy was destroyed.”

Yeah, Severus didn’t believe that for a minute. Sure, donating _some_ money in their will was plausible but Lily, Lily would have NEVER let her son grow up poor if it could be helped. Her childhood had been on the low end of prosperous. The Evans family wasn’t as poor as Severus’, but there were hard years when extra money was hard to come by. And now that he thought about it, Lily wouldn’t have placed her son with Petunia--no way in hell. Something was not adding up, and he was pretty sure Albus was the reason. Not to mention his cryptic last statement. Severus had a strange feeling Albus wasn't talking about the Dark Lord.

“No matter Albus, we still must provide for the boy in the meantime. I suggest we send someone with him to Diagon Alley as soon as possible. He cannot be expected to participate in class without a wand and proper supplies. Plus, I was only able to scrounge up one pair of extra clothing. He needs enough to last at least a week.”

“Well, you are his Head of House. Surely you can carve out some of your precious time to escort him. I would take him myself but I’m afraid that would draw too much attention. The Boy-Who-Lived and the Headmaster. Why we’d shut down the Alley!”

Severus had to close his eyes for a few seconds lest he roll them at Albus alongside a glare. Of course, he would have to be the one to take the insufferable brat. Even if he wasn’t actually an insufferable brat, yet. Maybe he wouldn’t be too insufferable; he was polite during their first confrontation. Except for that hair which was absolutely ghastly. Severus may have to subtly introduce him the Sleekeazies Tangle Tamer.

“As you wish Albus. I will arrange to take him sometime this week. Preferably tomorrow before classes start. I would have originally suggested over the weekend, but I believe it prudent to get him a wand as soon as possible. He is already starting at a disadvantage, muggle-raised in Slytherin no less. He’s going to need all the protection he can get.” 

“We all know how your Snakes can be biased about _politics_. I’ll see you in the morn. Good night Severus.”

That was certainly more blatant than Albus usually was. It was more than Severus could hope for that Albus would tone down his prejudiced generalisations against Slytherin. It was only a few obnoxiously vocal Snakes that made their opinions very clear, negatively affecting the House as a whole. Most were neutral or traditionalists who didn't care about blood if the wizard or witch in question assimilated smoothly into society.

And now instead of lesson planning, he had to plan a trip to Diagon Alley. He lay his head down on his arms. Why did he agree to Head of House Duties? Surely he wasn’t suited for young children. It was a wonder how he survived all these years at Hogwarts.

...

Severus jolted awake. His muscles ached and he felt cramped. Oh... he was still at his desk. His arms were not that comfortable as a pillow. Flicking his wand out, he cast a quick _tempus_. It was 6:00 AM. Joy. And he had to bring Potter shopping. This day was getting brighter and brighter.

Dragging himself out of his desk chair, he straightened his day-old clothes and brushed the wrinkles down. He really didn’t have time to change if he wanted to get Potter up and going before his dormmates had time to notice he was getting _special_ treatment.

It was a short walk to the Slytherin dorms, and it was quite apparent which bed was Potter's: the only one without a trunk. Severus rapped his knuckles against one of the wooden bedposts. Surely this would be sufficient in waking him up.

When no noises came from behind the silky green curtains, Severus grew annoyed. So much for Potter’s polite attitude last night, it seemed he was truly his father’s son; insolent and lazy. Well if he was going to act lazy Severus would treat him as such. So, with a flourish, Severus spelled open the bed curtains and sent a mild stinging hex at the centre of the bed. Still no noise or even a yelp from the hex. How heavily did this boy sleep?

It was time for drastic measures. He walked to the top corner of the bed and grabbed the blanket and ripped it off. To his surprise the bed was empty. Well, that was embarrassing. Good thing it was early enough that none of Potter’s dormmates were awake to see Severus making a fool of himself sending stinging hexes at an empty bed. In his defence, it was still dark in the dorm. The window looking into the Great Lake was curtained-off.

Now the question was, where is Potter? And then Severus heard a soft, “Sir?” It came from under the bed. Oh hell. 

Severus crouched down on his knees. And tried to gracefully peer under the bed. 

“Potter? What on Merlin’s Earth are you doing down there?”

“Um... well, Sir. I couldn’t sleep.”

“You couldn't sleep, so you decided to roll around on the _stone_ floor.”

Potter’s faced flushed, presumably quite embarrassed. Severus was embarrassed to be even having this conversation. What lengths would this boy go to annoy him? He was slowly becoming more similar to his father, and it was easier for Severus to push away any guilt he felt the more Potter annoyed him.

“Yeah... something like that, Sir.”

“No matter. We are leaving for Diagon Alley to purchase your supplies as soon as you make yourself presentable. Wear the robes I gave you yesterday. You have five minutes to meet me in the Common Room. Don’t make me wait.”

Potter nodded his head and crawled out from beneath his bed. As Severus turned to walk to the Common Room, he saw out of the corner of his eye, Potter place a pillow on top of his bed that hadn’t been there before. Had he been sleeping down there? Severus hadn’t been sure what Potter was doing under his bed, maybe setting up a prank or something? But sleeping? Surely not. Potter had a perfectly fine mattress. There wasn’t anything wrong with the dorm beds. It was insulting to Hogwarts (and Slytherin!) that Potter refused to sleep on his bed. 

Five minutes later, Potter stood at the entrance of the dorms and made his way over to Severus. They were going to Floo, Severus decided. It was the fastest way of travel besides Apparating and Severus really didn’t want to hold Potter’s hand in order to transport him.

“We will be Flooing to the Alley. It’s very easy, I’m sure even you can manage it. Watch me do exactly as I do.”

Severus made sure to over exaggerate his movements by making a show of pinching the sandy grey powder and tossing it into the fireplace’s flames. Potter looked a bit pale when Severus had turned around to make sure he was paying attention. Then, Severus called out in a clear voice, “Diagon Alley” and stepped into the now icy flames.

He stepped out of the communal fireplace on the other end and waited patiently for Potter to make his way through. After five minutes, Severus began to get impatient. It was not that hard to Floo! He had clearly shown the brat how to do it. Severus sighed, could this day get any better? 

He put a sickle in the slot of the Floo powder dispenser and took a mini capsule of powder. Unclasping the container, he tossed the powder in the fireplace and called out, “Slytherin Common Room!” Not just anyone could Floo into or out of Hogwarts, you had to be keyed explicitly into the wards for Flooing. He had opened them for Potter, but sticking his head in and looking around the Room revealed he was nowhere to be found. HOnEStLy! With his head still in the fireplace, he reached his wand into the Room and tapped into the wards to see whether or not the boy had left or not.

Potter had left. The wards also showed that he had Flooed. Severus tried very hard not to bang his head against the bricks of the fireplace.

Presumably, Potter was somewhere within Diagon Alley if he Flooed somewhat correctly. Treasure hunting for Potter wasn’t an idea of a fun day for Severus.

A quick _invenient eum_ and Severus was heading down the cobbled streets of the Alley. Because it was so early, there were hardly any people about which was nice. It certainly made it easier to follow his wand, which pointed him down a side street. After another side street, Severus felt a stone sink in his stomach. He knew where his wand was leading him: Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn had seen better days. Before the fall of the Dark Lord, it had bustled with activity and the normal wizard or witch could be seen bartering or buying all sorts of things. But when the Dark Lord was banished and the Death Eaters rounded up, “War on Dark” propaganda was forced down everyone’s throats. It was the Ministry’s campaign to prevent the Dark Arts from spreading and being taught. The purpose was to restrict access to Dark information so wizards and witches wouldn’t potentially pose threats to the Magical Government and World. As a result, Knockturn, predominantly filled with “Dark” shops, suffered a substantial economic downturn. 

The streets weren’t kept, the shop fronts grimy, and the people that lived and worked there were grey shadows. This was no place for one Harry Potter, Saviour of the Light. 

Severus stayed on the sides of the streets, you were an idiot to walk down the middle where anyone could see you, steal your money or attack you. He covertly glanced in dark shops, hoping for a glimpse of messy black hair. He would probably be fired for losing the brat. Although, with Albus, you never knew.

He passed about four shops, and then he finally saw black hair that could only belong to Potter. He was in a shop that was familiar to Severus, Borgin and Burke’s. Severus had bought a few rare potion ingredients there such as Basilisk skin and Unicorn hair. It wasn’t a potion supply shop, but a held a variety of rare or Dark artefacts and oddities. 

Just as Severus reached the shop Potter stumbled out of the doors looking rumpled and confused. 

“Potter! It is not that hard to use the Floo. Do you know how long I had to look around for you?” It really hadn’t been that long but Potter deserved the berating. “Come now. Let’s get this shopping over with.”

“Yes Sir,” was Potter’s quiet reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * If Sev's attitude seems to flip-flop a lot about Harry it’s because he can't decide how to feel about him. He’s confused because he sees James’ features layered on top of this boy who very obviously not James. He tries very hard to convince himself that Harry is James (the person he feels justified in hating, meaning its OK that he was abused/neglected) so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about abandoning him to the Dursleys despite his promise to Lily.  
> * "invenient eum" means "find him," I thought this sounded better than "point me."  
> * "War on Dark" is my spin-off of the "War on Terror" that was started in the US after 9/11 (yes I am American, sorry if this reference doesn’t make sense to my readers from other countries)


	6. The First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow...it's been a while. Sorry about that! This chapter is still more setting-things-up, I promise we'll get to the plot eventually. Enjoy :)

Harry hadn’t meant to stumble out of the Floo at the wrong place, he’d just never used one before. He couldn’t be expected to travel perfectly on his first try. So, that was how he ended up in a dusty, dark shop. 

He looked around, trying in vain to locate Professor Snape. What if he travelled halfway across the country? How would he ever get back to Hogwarts? Plus, he didn’t know how to defend himself, he didn’t even have a wand!

Harry looked around once more, this time taking in surroundings. The shop was filled with gruesome artefacts and books that looked like they would bite if he so much as brushed a hand against them. It was very dim and Harry couldn’t be sure if the shop was even open. He decided he didn’t want to increase any chance of getting in trouble--or hurt, some of the artefacts looked downright murderous--so, he would find the door and promptly leave.

That didn’t prove as easy as it sounded. The shop was built like a bloody maze, and Harry soon found himself lost within the winding aisles. After walking aimlessly a few minutes, Harry felt a tugging in his navel. Naturally, he decided to follow it. After all, he had nothing else to go on, and maybe it would lead him out of the shop.

This theory was quickly proved wrong as the tugging sensation pulled him down _farther_ into the shadows and twisty aisles. Thirty seconds later, the tugging drastically increased in power, and Harry started feeling lightheaded. And, without really remembering how he got there, he was standing in front of an innocuous enough bookshelf. For a second he stared at it, was he supposed to pick up a book? Maybe the tugging led him to something specific? But, if that was true, then someone knew he was here. Harry didn’t like that thought very much. Based on the contents of the shop, Harry was sure he wouldn’t like the owner and more likely, they wouldn’t like him.

A hissing rang in Harry’s ears, “ _Pick me up. Take me. Pick me. Hide me. _”__

__What the hell? The voice came from a small black leather book, hidden amongst its shelf-mates. The voice was enticing, it sounded like melted dark chocolate. And, against his will, Harry reached out a hand a drew his finger down the spine. The little book purred. Harry had read many books in his short eleven years, but he had never experienced something quite like this. The book was calling him, drawing him in. Harry had never wanted anything more in his life than to pick up the book and read it._ _

__“Boy! What do you think you’re doing in my shop? Grubbing up my priceless artefacts? I think not! Get out!”_ _

__Harry flinched harshly. So, there was an owner. Quickly, before Harry could register what he was doing, he nabbed the book and stuffed it into the waistband of his baggy jeans._ _

__“Sorry, Mister. It was my first time Flooing, I didn’t mean to land in your shop.”_ _

__“A mudblood, eh? Well, we don’t serve your kind here.” With that rude pronouncement, the shop owner roughly jerked the collar of Harry’s oversized shirt and dragged him presumably towards the front door._ _

__Harry could hear the man muttering under his breath, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t be brought to the police. Who knew what sort of awful interrogation methods they had in the wizarding world._ _

__Sighing in relief, Harry saw the front door of the shop. He was being let off! Now all he had to do was find Professor Snape._ _

__The owner jerked open the door, “Out you go! And don’t come back. If I catch you here again you won't be so lucky.” Harry quickly stumbled out. He did not want to anger the man any further._ _

__“Potter! It is not that hard to use the Floo. Do you know how long I had to look around for you? Come now. Let’s get this shopping over with.”_ _

__Apparently, Harry wouldn’t have to go searching for his Professor after all. Thank god. He didn’t have any idea how he would have gone about without directions. Wizard cities were probably even more confusing than normal ones. He was actually a bit excited to go shopping. He never had the chance with the Dursleys. The only place he was ever allowed to go besides their house was the library._ _

__A quick “Yes, Sir” and they were off down a couple of side streets and on what looked like the main street of the shopping area: Diagon Alley._ _

__Harry sucked in a breath; all his senses were being assaulted at once. Where the street he had just been on was dingy and quiet, Diagon was bright with advertisements, and the general noisiness of a vast conglomeration of people. Shop fronts boasted colourful displays and floating lights drift hither and thither illuminating different sales. Everything was moving. The people, the signs, the purchases. It was overwhelming to take in._ _

__“Potter!”_ _

__The sound of his name jerked Harry out of his daze. He glanced up at Professor Snape and as his professor gave a sharp nod towards the end of the street, where a marble monolith of a building stood._ _

__“We are going to stop at Gringotts, the wizarding bank, to pick up money for supplies. Do try to refrain from making a fool of yourself. Goblins are to be treated with the utmost respect.”_ _

__With that, Professor Snape strode off with a flourish of his black robes. Harry trotted a bit to catch up, wondering how goblins could be real. The only goblins he knew were from _Lord of the Rings_ , and they were quite nasty. Maybe these goblins would be nice because they worked in a bank? Surely they would be civilized._ _

__Gringotts’ massive marble pillars loomed in front of Harry. He could even see short humanesque figures holding finely polished axes at the glass entry doors. Harry assumed these were the goblins, and they certainly didn’t look up for a casual cup of tea. Maybe they were more similar to _Lord of the Rings_ after all. _ _

__The inside of the bank was more impressive than the outside. Chandeliers dripping with deadly looking crystals and hung from vaulted ceilings. The floor was a brown-gold marble matching the tellers’ countertops. Behind each countertop was a goblin teller dressed in a fine suit. Strange instruments, which seemed to be used to measure precious metals or coins, lined the counters. All manner of witches and wizards fluctuated throughout the building. It was a place of constant activity, though much more organised than the muddle outside its doors._ _

__Professor Snape walked up to a teller and inclined his head slightly, bun bobbing. “We are here to check Mr Potter’s vaults and withdraw from the Hogwarts Charity Vault.”_ _

__The goblin glared back, held out his leathery brown hand and demanded, “Keys?”_ _

__Professor Snape produced two keys from the folds of his cloak. One was small, shiny and gold. The other was what Harry imagined an old-fashioned key looked like; big, bronze and worn._ _

__The goblin took the keys and examined them with a fancy gold magnifying glass. He huffed a bit and then beckoned for Harry and Professor Snape to follow him. They walked after the goblin down a twisty stone hall. At the end of the hall there was a small platform connected to a railway track, and on the track was a small cart. Without preamble, the goblin hopped in the front and his professor followed._ _

__Harry was a bit wary. What if the goblin was leading them to some horrible cave to be murdered? The goblin did seem pretty annoyed earlier. No, this wasn’t _Lord of the Rings_ , besides he had Professor Snape. His professor wouldn’t let anyone kill him. _ _

__The ride in the cart was awful. His stomach had already been feeling not-so-great, probably from all the food he ate the previous night, but now it was absolutely awful. He had been able to ignore it when they were walking around, and even after flooing it wasn’t that bad, but now his stomach felt like it was pierced through with a thousand needles. Any time he so much as shifted the needle-feeling tore deeper into his stomach. By the time the ride was over, Harry was hunched over himself trying to keep as still as possible._ _

__“Potter! Potter, what are you doing? It’s time to get out.”_ _

__Harry felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move though, it hurt too much._ _

__“I’m sorry, sir. My stomach really hurts. I can’t move unless I want it to get worse. Can I just wait here until you get back?”_ _

__Harry heard a sigh and muttering that sounded something like, “...my luck...boy...motion-sick...”_ _

__Then Professor Snape spoke clearer, “Alright Potter. You may wait here, but I better not find you missing when I get back. It shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes.”_ _

__Harry thanked every god he knew (and he knew a lot of Greek Gods from the _Percy Jackson Series_ ) that he didn’t have to get up. Maybe if he waited long enough the pain would ebb. _ _

__It seemed like two seconds had passed by the time Professor Snape had returned. And Harry was NOT ready for the journey back up._ _

__“Potter, we will be going back up now. Will you be alright?”_ _

__“No, sir,” Harry replied a bit meekly. “Couldn’t we wait a bit longer?”_ _

__“Unfortunately, the goblins run a tight schedule. If you consent, I can ‘stupefy’ you. That way you’ll be passed out the whole ride. You wouldn’t feel anything.”_ _

__Harry lifted his head from his knees so he could look at Professor Snape. He was wearing the same pinched look as yesterday night when Harry was answering his questions. Passing out seemed like a fantastic idea though. Anything that would make the pain go away._ _

__“Alright, sir. You can ‘pass me out.’”_ _

__Harry scrunched his eyes closed in preparation. All he heard was a soft _stupefy_ and then nothing._ _

__When Harry woke up he was back in the twisty hallway they had used to get to the cart. He almost didn’t notice it for a second, but all the pain in his stomach was gone! Perhaps Professor Snape had done something to make it go away._ _

__“Thank you, sir.”_ _

__His professor just inclined his head genially. For some reason, he seemed a lot calmer than he was before the cart ride._ _

__They spent the rest of the morning picking up Harry’s supplies; Second-hand robes from Tear and Repair, school books from Flourish and Blotts (they were all half off because school had already started), a telescope and beat-up trunk from a pawn shop, potion supplies (which were the most expensive) from Slug and Jigger, and the best item: his wand._ _

__Getting his wand to choose him was a relatively short process. Almost as soon as Harry walked into the curious little shop he felt a tug from the little black book he stole earlier that was still stuffed in the waistband of his baggy pants. A box in the very back of the shop shot off the shelf and hovered directly in front of him. It was coated in dust and seemed to be _begging_ him to open it up and take what was inside. Harry reached out a tentative hand, ready to open the box--_ _

__“How very unexpected. Never in my years have I seen a wand so eager to be chosen by a wizard.”_ _

__Harry startled. Out of nowhere, a wizened man appeared. Despite his old age, he had clear blue eyes that roved over Harry’s person in great detail. Harry felt like this man knew everything about him, which was impossible, they had just met. It was an uncomfortable feeling._ _

__“Go on. Pick up the wand. Let us see how well it works for you. A strange combination if I remember correctly: phoenix feather and holly branch.”_ _

__At his command, Harry unboxed the wand and took it gently in his hand. Immediately, he felt a power surge through his body and out his fingertips into the wand. Bright red sparks shot out the end, and strangely enough, Harry swore he could hear the book in his waistband hiss a faint _yesss_._ _

__The old man was muttering under his breath and sharply looked Harry in the eyes. After a second or two, the man blinked and with a nothing-is-out-of-the-ordinary smile, and asked for seven galleons. Professor Snape paid him and they left the shop._ _

__“Alright Potter, we’ll be flooing back now. Hopefully, you’ll have enough time to catch the last ends of breakfast and make it to your first class on time. I have your syllabus, it looks like you have Herbology first with Professor Sprout.”_ _

__Harry took the proffered syllabus and followed Professor Snape into the Flooing area. Harry was nervous to take the Floo again in case he ended up in some strange place, but his Professor stuck out his arm to Harry and said, “Grab my arm. I will not have you Floo halfway across the country and end up somewhere in Russia.”_ _

__So, with that Harry took his Professor's arm and was sucked into the chilly green flames._ _

__About two seconds later, they were back in the common room and Professor Snape was dusting off his black robes and handing Harry his unshrunk trunk full of school supplies._ _

__“Up to your dorm to put away your things, then hurry down to breakfast and out to Greenhouse Two for your first lesson. Don’t be late,” were Professor Snape’s no-nonsense last words as he swished his robes, presumably disappearing to the potion’s classroom._ _

__Harry decided to skip breakfast because his stomach was starting to feel off again. He made his way straight to the greenhouses for his first lesson._ _

__Herbology reminded him a bit of doing chores for Aunt Petunia, what with all the planting and pruning he did at Privet Drive. Nevertheless, it was quite fun because everything was _magical_ and he liked working with his hands. The only thing that put a damper on the lesson was that everyone wanted to partner with him, with the exception of the icy Draco and his cronies. It was overwhelming how everyone wanted to talk to him. What was so special about him? So, Harry did what he had to do; he shut himself up and clenched his fists to calm himself down. One thing at a time. He was about to have his first lesson ever. And it was something he knew how to do._ _

__After the clamour of all the students vying for his attention found other partners, he ended up partnering with a quiet boy from Ravenclaw named Anthony. The lesson was about the plant dittany: how to plant it, care for it and its healing properties. It was interesting, Harry hadn't heard of the plant before, but its properties of healing were amazing. He wished he had it back when he was at the Dursleys. It might've been able to heal his hands after using all their harsh cleaning products._ _

__All too soon class was over, and it was time for lunch. Harry dreaded sitting at Slytherin table with Draco and his friends. If he could make one friend in his House, maybe the rest of the year would be easier._ _

__Lunch was just as lavish as the feast the night before. This time Harry made sure to take easily digestible foods; fruit, vegetables and a roll. He got a few weird stares from his choices, but he wasn't taking any more than anyone else so, he wouldn't get in trouble. Also, this time he sat next to a pretty girl with perfectly coiffed honey hair. She introduced herself as "Daphne Greengrass, pleased to meet you," and Harry immediately liked her. She was calm, collected and her warm brown eyes crinkled when she smiled._ _

__Lunch, overall, was much nicer than the Welcoming Feast. Harry didn't feel as on display, and he got to partake in a quiet conversation with Daphne about Herbology class. Maybe she would be his first friend._ _


End file.
